More nonsense - to enable me cope with a dysfunctional Irish Government

He checked the phone. He had a text from Polly. It read DP MT POT SHD. DE GRTS WM. MD AS HL. SOS. POL.

He never knew what those messages meant but if he had sent it he would have said.

Dear Pal. You need to attend at a meeting in the Potting Shed, where Ali, The Greatest, requests to meet you . He is as mad as hell. Someone squealed. Polly. Well no. He wouldn't have signed it Polly. DOH! DOH!

“Wassup Pal!! How's it hanging? Someone here waiting on you,” says a cool slick Weasel on watch at the door.

“Ok. Slick. Sometin' terrible.” Replied Pal.

He's feeling a bit uneasy or is it just queasy and he's unsure, so he's thinking about stalling but quickly realises he would look a right cabbage if he were to falter. So he settles his “Kiss Me”, squares up in the doorway and pushes open the door in a John Wayne like fashion. He wants to say “Pilgrim” But instead says “Who’s there.”

“I am, I am Stoat-Ali The Greatest. Call me Ali.: if you dare. Pleased ta meet ya. I used to float like a butterfly and sting like a bee – just like my hero Muhammad Ali. I bopped 'em, 'til I dropped 'em. - they never got a chance to lay one on this pretty face.”

“OH MY GOD...”says Pal

“Yea that’s me: words out that you’re a bit of a jiver yourself, words out that you run a mean and nasty gaff here. From my sources words out that you was huerd saying: sing it for us Slick. Quote 'im man.”

Slick hummed an out of tune, flat as his belly, note and started.

As for slugs I do go out at night and collect them by torch light and then I put them in salt water in a Flora tub and they die quickly. Die wickly. Quickly. Quickly.

I would not give them beer in case they go on drunken rampages and terrorise the Worm farm or the Ant hill. Terrorise. Terry - Rise.

I would imagine slugs would be very anti-social when drunk. As Skunks. As Skunks.

I know for a fact , for a certain fact, It's a fact.

One of them was climbing the wall under the bedroom window a few nights ago. Nites, Nites. Agoooo.

Then Slick took a big gulp of air – filled up his chest, his belly and his, well what ever the rest was: his feet? Then went for it.

Probably going for my wallet and car keyssssssssss, keyyyyyyyssssss.

“Boom. Boom. Unquote.” Added Ali.

Never make the Hit Parade, Pal thought.

“Hey man whas with the accu..us..a the blaminman our friends the Slugs of Vandalism, theys is only trying to live!” Says Ali. Then slightly confused and emotional at what he imagined was Slick's, slickest performance so far, added. “Say! What kinda car you drive anyway? What’s the top revs?”

“Jees Ali. Mister Ali. No way man, you’re the Greatest, I’d never be disrespect-in the slug community. Jees man they're the best, I mean it.”

Feeling under pressure Pal secretly - texts his DP: bring some rescue remedy. Well that's what he meant; he only texted HELP!

Polly makes a grand entrance with the best treats of lettttuccesss and cuucuuumber bites: on her Blue Periwinkle Bone China.

“Delighted, delighted you could join us Ali for some light refreshments. Will you have some geesberry wune? “

She meant gooseberry wine but had tippled a few earlier! “Don’t mind what my sweet Pal says. The night air has affected him ever so slightly and at times he does tend to ramble some....poor dear.

I must let Mrs Hermione Pott know that you are here. She’s my neighbour with the jacuzzi and room for a pony and the husband that NAMA is investigating.”

Ali was smitten! Wow! He thought. That broad Polly would blow the whistle on my kettle anytime. She's a sophisticated broad, looks to die for..sometin' looking like a sharp cultured creature like Hyacinth from Keeping Up Appearances.

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that creature of desire, his shoulders shook, his tail rose to a height and he sighed loudly: as he failed.

But what Ali didn't know was: she a tendency to over indulge on that home-made wine Pal makes...cheapskate won’t buy vintage! But mst of the tome ...oops..(sorry me too..) most of the time... she's class.

What he can't know either is she could be as sensitive as any sweet pea and but has a fiery temper on her like a Tsunami but that's what Pal sees in her, he's smitten, - isn't that right Pal.- and she knows how to play that to her full advantage!

Ali came out of his trance as in the real Rocky style Pal says...

“The Wurld! It ain’t all sunshine and rainbows- sniff, sniff. It 'sa very mean and nasty place. It will beat ya to yaur knees and keep you there perman'ntly – ifan you let it. Ya! Me! Nah nooobody is going to hit as hurd as LIFE. But it ain’t about how hurd you hit. It's about how hurd ya can get hit and keep movin' furwa'd, it's how much ya can take : and keep moving furwa'd.”

My Rocky Balboa speech should impress: thinks Pal quietly – well that statement beats Banagher! Writer? Can you think loudly?

It did the job; tired and emotional again, Ali said, “I’m feeling it man. Take me home Slick. Sing me a sad song”

“OK Boss.”

Under a Parsnip leaf. Old Rick Stoat, slurps his whiskers, drags on his fag and whispers, “Not that tune, though. I tole yas all, don’t sing that tune.”